Les Poisson

Husband is a member of an Exchange club here in Hometown. Annually, they have a lobster sale to raise funds for the children. What children? I don't know. What for the children? I don't know. How much do they raise and where are the children? I don't know.

It's lobster, people.

I texted a friend, because who calls anymore, and asked her if she liked lobster. Apparently, she and her husband love lobster-- and would love to eat lobster with us... pending they weren't yachting. 


After checking with her social secretary, it was confirmed that they were, in fact, not yachting this past Sunday and could make an addition to her social calendar.

Another couple could join us and a date was set. 

Lobsters on the veranda at The Manor. 


Four adults showed up, with a total of seven children. The day... perfect. This was the first fall day I remember feeling since we relocated back to the land of two seasons: Summers and Ice Storms. We scrolled open all six sets of doors and the children ran in and out of them as we chatted, sipped, sat, and pretended that lobsters on a Sunday was a totally normal thing and something we had been doing our whole lives--

except for when we are out... yachting.



The kids were thrilled to see each other. I did a lively rendition of Les Poisson from The Little Mermaid (not shown here... you're welcome). The Little Eyes (Eye Doctor's kids) danced to Rock Lobster and ... well, maybe the kids weren't the only ones who were ready to celebrate fall.

Celebrate by eating lobster.

I iced the beer down in our YETI cooler-- because people who yacht and eat lobsters at a place dubbed The Manor have YETI coolers. 

Duh.

After everyone showed up and bottles of wine came out... I realized that our wine opener had broken the day (week) before. I did not think much about this as a problem for the past seven days as I have been drinking wine from a box.


Because people who have YETI coolers and yacht and live in places dubbed The Manor don't need refined palettes for expensive wine. They can drink it from a box like the rest of the world. Except a friend brought a nice bottle of Chardonnay... and I had no wine opener. 

Husband was unexcited that I requested his assistance with his crazy-mad doctor abilities. By doctor, of course I mean "handiness" ....


Our poor third child really has to fend for himself. Let's not pass judgement on his parents. They eat lobster.



I got to cooking hotdogs for the kids. Just because the parents eat lobster on the veranda at The Manor does not mean we can afford for six kids to chow down on the same. Hotdogs, fruit, and punch that resembled a bodily fluid (no picture shown) in disposable cups labeled with each child's name-- so as not to be wasteful.



Oh, right... and corn. Nothing goes with a hotdog like corn. And Barbie.


The gentlemen had the heavy work of boiling water....


 Poor Fuzzy was in his room and saw the guys outside. He crawled to the door, thinking he could get out and kept running into crying. I knocked on the window and pointed down to my feet where he was. Husband looked up to see his son wanting to be with him. He dropped what he was doing and scooped him up.

Fuzzy's godfather held him as his dad went to work putting the lobsters where they belonged... in the water. On the veranda. Of The Manor. That we do so often on a Sunday-- when we aren't.... yachting.


Can pictures get much worse? Yes, of course they can- but this is me of recent.




When it came time to eat, Husband asked if we should inside or out... OUT! I screamed... I mean, "Out," I so delicately put it. Outside it was- with the drawn butter....


the wine...


and the lobster...




Now would probably be a good time to mention a few things...

(1) About three minutes before our friends showed up, I looked at my husband who had been on call all weekend and asked... calm as rain... asked, "Hey- do you even know how to boil lobster?"

To answer my question-- he did know how to boil lobster.

(2) After the lobster were dropped, it ... ahem... dawned on the hostess with the most-est that I don't have any lobster chompers. You know those things that you use to get into the lobster? We might eat lobster on Sundays when we aren't out yachting, but, well... I did not have the tools to get into the lobster.

Because, typically, we have people who do that for us.

Yeah, that's why.

I pulled out garden shears and they worked just fine. Because nothing coordinates better with David Yurman and lobster on the veranda at The Manor than .... garden shears.




I made grits with lime zest.


And we sat around and talked... and talked... and talked...


and the kids played...


And we ate more slaw-- which is #1 on the Pinterest Recipe list. For good reason.


The children snuck some bites of corn.


And got into dance costumes to ride bikes after they discovered Styrofoam and what a mess it could make. One of the moms mentioned that they were getting into it. I shrugged and said, "Meh- they're happy. And quiet. No worries."

Husband mentioned the styrofoam and tried to take it away. I stopped him.

Another dad mentioned the same thing.

Y'all, I have a roomba now. This was not going to be a problem.


The godfather bent a fork... and said he would kill me if I posted this picture:


I was happy to have the bent fork because that meant we had had a gathering... on the veranda... of The Manor... with friends... and we had a good time. So, he can kill me... because the fork was worth it.


It was one of those lovely nights that make you feel like you are home-- home is so often an adjective in my world. It is much more powerful as an adjective then when it is simply a noun. It has taken Husband and Wife over two years back in Hometown, but I think we are, very slowly, starting to find our people and make our place our Home.

It appears, that when it takes time, when you seek out the best- the best come and we are lucky for that.

I looked around towards the end of the night- a night filled with laughter and the cool breeze of a welcomed fall and someone said, "Hey-- really? You really want to sell this house?"

It's not the settings that make the moments, but the people in the moments.



After they left, I set the Roomba to work on the styrofoam balls and went to bed.


The next morning? All that remained from the evening? A canister of formula and a few lobster claws.

And six slight headaches….

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